Chapter 9

The guards moved in at once, reaching for Trina's friends to haul them away. "Stop!" Trina slammed her wineglass to the floor. It exploded into shards, glass skittering across the tiles. "This is my birthday party! I dare any one of you to touch them!" The guards hesitated, clearly troubled. "Mrs. Hauser, orders are orders. Please don't make this harder on us..." Trina looked from Julian's retreating back to her friends' terrified faces. A wave of fury and helplessness crashed through her so hard that she could barely breathe. She clenched her teeth and said, "You really want to beat someone? Fine! This is my party! Everything here is on me! I'll take every single strike for them!" "Trin, no!" Her friends grabbed for her, crying as they tried to hold her back. Trina shook them off and met their eyes, her gaze steady and unflinching. "This started because of me, so it should end with me. Go home." Then, she turned to the guards. "Lead the way." Out on the open ground beside the military detention block, the sound of wood striking flesh rang through the cold night, one heavy blow after another. Trina lay bent over the bench, biting her lower lip until it bled. She refused to let a single scream escape. By the time all 80 strikes were done, her back and thighs were a mess of torn skin and blood. She could hardly feel her own body. "Mrs. Hauser..." The soldier swinging the baton looked shaken, guilt written all over his face. Trina pushed herself up from the bench, every movement sending stabbing pain up her spine. Her legs trembled as she forced herself to stand. Her face was white as paper, and her forehead was slick with cold sweat, but she still managed to straighten her shoulders and turn to her tearful friends with a faint smile. "I'm... fine. Go home." She didn't look at anyone again. Step by step, she walked back home unsteadily. With every step she took, it felt like someone was ripping her wounds open all over again. Black spots swam at the edges of her vision. The moment she made it through the door, her body finally gave out. She collapsed onto the living room carpet. She didn't call a doctor or the maids. She lay there for a long time, just breathing through the pain. Then, she dragged herself up, found the first-aid kit, and began tending to the shredded skin on her back. Every touch burned like fire. Sweat poured down her face. She only clamped a towel between her teeth and stayed silent. In the days that followed, Julian never came home. Trina didn't ask where he was or what he was doing. She just kept tending her wounds and quietly packing her things. Then one day, Wayne called Trina. "The divorce filing's been approved," he said. "Tomorrow, it'll be in the papers. Everyone in Flarora will know you're divorced. After that, I'll give Julian the medicine." He paused, his tone turning sharp. "Once you've got the divorce papers in hand, get as far away from here as you can! Don't come back and cause trouble for me!" Listening to his cold, detached voice, Trina felt nothing at all. Her heart was so numb that there wasn't even space left for anger. "Wayne Shepherd," she said into the phone, her voice icy, "you make me sick." Before he could explode, she hung up. She stood in the middle of the townhouse, looking around for a long, long time. Then, she lifted the suitcases she had already packed and went straight to the airport. She boarded a flight out of the country without looking back. From that day on, Trina disappeared from Flarora.